prose
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One day you’re 10, and you’re waking up to the wet wilderness, putting on your dirt streaked flip flops to pick wild raspberries for morning pancakes. The foam soles bend around the gravel road, and you can feel every single pebble like the princess and the pea except you’re the king, the king of this
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Before I turned 18, I might as well have not existed. My teenaged years were a stale, stagnant fog. I was a stringed puppet, a shell of the raw, confident aura teenagers possess. I was puppeteered by my parents, and with glee-I knew no better but to impress them dutifully. My days were filled with
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My love is shelf stable.My heart is best before sealed,for an infinite future. The apparent stagnation is really the exaltation of immortality,the way a feeling can remain at its prime until necessary,the bounty firm against the cheek, waiting. Waiting for an undetermined moment where the seal breaks,where the sand begins to bead down the glass, where you
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Some people think in circles and others in squares.
Lashanda Forsberg 